Читать книгу Lost & Found Love - Laura Browning - Страница 7

“Let me go!”

The tall man’s scowl deepened. “Who are you? And what are you doing here? You do realize you’re on private property, don’t you?”

As soon as he released her, Tabby took a deep breath and brushed her hair off her face. Back under control, she looked up, not that she had to tilt her head far. He paused for a moment, his thick brows still drawn together over dark gray eyes.

“Who are you?” he asked again, now with an underlying curiosity that bordered on intense. He wore authority like a well-worn coat, an obviously complex man who, right now, was frowning ferociously.

“Tabitha MacVie,” she whispered, desperately trying to think of an excuse for why she was there. She cleared her throat. “The new art teacher in Mountain Meadow. I—I’m sorry. I was riding and thought this was a road, and then—then I got up here and saw the trees, and…”

“…And you’re a very bad liar,” the man said. While she no longer sensed any real hostility from him, persistence burned in his gaze. “Let me introduce myself. I’m Evan Richardson, the commonwealth’s attorney. Now, maybe you could tell me who you really are?”

Tabby’s chin jutted. “Tabitha MacVie, and I am the new art teacher.”

“But you didn’t just stumble on this place, did you? Are you from here?”

“No.” She tilted her head at him. “You said your name is Richardson.” She glanced over her shoulder, deciding to take a stab in the dark. “Like the baby?”

He nodded, still watching her with narrowed gray eyes. “Why are you here, Miss MacVie?”

“I came here because my mother used to live here, and I came because I was hoping to find my sister. Maybe you know her.”

“Why don’t you tell me who you believe this sister is?” Caution shadowed his words as if he somehow already knew what she would say, but wasn’t sure he wanted to hear her actually voice it.

“Her name’s Jenny. Jenny Owens. Mama said I would find her here. This was where she grew up, but it looks deserted. Has she moved, Mr. Richardson? I would like to find her, to tell her about Mama. I have a letter for her.”

“Jenny’s my wife.” His eyes narrowed. “She’s expecting our child in less than a month. I don’t want her upset at this point, so what’s in this letter?” His gaze shifted to the tiny gravestone on the hill. “We’ve already had our share of troubles—then and now.”

“Mama’s dead,” Tabby said. “She died last year of cancer, but she wanted Jenny to know why she left. I—I came to tell her.” Her voice died as she, too, looked up the hill and her brow furrowed. “Never mind, Mr. Richardson. It’s been my secret for the last year. I can keep it a while longer.”

Worry darkened his expression, making it obvious how much he cared for his wife. Tabby wondered if Jenny knew how lucky she was. This was the kind of man who would always look after her first, even before himself. Tabby smiled. “My sister’s lucky to have you. I’ll go. I’m sorry I trespassed.”

“Wait.” He reached out to touch her arm, but Tabby avoided the contact without making it obvious. She didn’t liked to be touched, a holdover from her childhood that she couldn’t seem to shake. “I could give you a ride.”

She shook her head. “No. I need the exercise to clear my head.”

Evan nodded as if he understood. “We live on Maple Street. If you’d like to come by this weekend, we’ll be around.”

Hope stirred, but Tabby had learned long ago to be cautious. With a shift and a tug at the long sleeves of her shirt, she asked uncertainly, “Are you sure?”

Evan smiled. “Jenny would have my hide if I kept you away. In fact, why don’t we make it for dinner tomorrow night? Nothing fancy. We’ll throw something on the grill and invite our neighbors, Holly and Jake. Holly’s brother, Tyler, might even be one of your students.”

“Tyler Morgan?” At Evan’s nod, she smiled. “I’ve met him. I’d like to meet some other people, if you’re sure.”

“Four-twenty-four Maple Street. Around six tomorrow.”

He slipped behind the wheel of the big SUV he was driving, reversed, and headed down the drive. Tabby twisted her hair into its ponytail, put her helmet on, and mounted her bike to head home. She would meet her sister. She could give her the letter Mama had dictated to her. Then she would be done. Tabby had purposely kept herself from forming any expectations beyond that.

* * * *

Joe couldn’t stop smiling. Vacation bible school finished Friday night with a big, noisy cookout in the back of the church. Joe watched all the younger kids running around playing on the swing sets and the jungle gym while the older kids engaged in a spirited game of volleyball. He moved from group to group, spending time not only with the kids but also with the parents who were invited to this final night.

As he locked up the church and walked home, he reflected on where he was. A full year in Mountain Meadow and his ministry was paying off, particularly with the kids, which was exactly where he wanted to have an impact. Membership was up among younger families, but even the older members were content with some of the changes he’d introduced.

Things had turned a little sticky last year when Jake and Holly first showed up, but since the entire town soon fell in love with Holly and her baby, Noelle, that awkwardness was long forgotten. The only unsettling moments from his point of view were the constant invitations to dinners where someone’s unmarried sister, cousin, or best friend from high school suddenly showed up. He wouldn’t mind a date now and then, but he’d prefer to do the choosing on his own. He’d also prefer to eat something other than spaghetti or meatloaf.

Joe’s glance slid to the house next to his. He glimpsed a tall, slim woman lifting a bike and setting it on the veranda before she disappeared indoors. Ah. That must be the elusive Tabitha MacVie, not at all old it seemed. In fact, what he’d so briefly glimpsed had made his breath catch. Though her hair had been back in a braid, Joseph could tell that Tyler hadn’t exaggerated, it was long and nearly as black as her cat.

He wondered if Miss MacVie ate spaghetti or meatloaf. He hoped not.

As the evening wound down, his eyes strayed to the house more and more. When darkness fell and he saw the only light was once again in the third floor room, he was disappointed. What was she doing up there? He was tempted to grill Tyler, but that would be a bit too obvious. Not to mention pathetic.

With effort, Joe put her from his mind and returned to his house. He had a lot to get done Saturday, plus rehearsing his sermon one more time, and he didn’t need to be thinking about the mystery woman. But despite his promise to himself, when he got up the following morning to run, his eyes settled on her back door. The first thing he noticed was the bike was gone. Was she out riding again?

Joe stretched and began the longer run he normally saved for Saturday mornings. Five miles before he came home, showered, then stopped in at Tarpley’s to do his grocery shopping. It was a weekly ritual.

While he ran, he amused himself with ways in which he could meet his new neighbor. He envisioned offering her help getting settled, but she’d probably already done that. He pictured heroically rescuing her from something—maybe a burning house. No. He certainly didn’t want to see her house burn down. Maybe…

In the end, he met her in an aisle in Tarpley’s when they both reached for the same box of macaroni and cheese. It should have been the most mundane of ways in which to encounter an attractive woman, except that as soon as their hands touched, she stumbled back with a startled gasp and clutched her hand within her other as if she’d been burned.

Joe got that. He felt the same way as he stared into eyes as wide and golden as his next door neighbor’s cat. Her hair was only a shade lighter than the cat’s. This was the elusive Miss MacVie. She was tall, he noted, nearly eye-to-eye with him, and he was a shade over six feet. He smiled, but received only that shocked look in return.

Resisting the temptation to see if he’d spilled something on himself or had a smudge of grease on his face, he held out his hand. She didn’t take it.

“I’m Joseph Taylor.” He persevered, hoping to high heaven he didn’t blush. “Most folks call me Joe. I believe we live next door to each other.” When she still didn’t say anything, he continued. “Most of the time people say their name back to me. Have I upset you in some way?”

Finally, as if she pulled herself out of a trance, she shook her head. “No. I’m Tabitha MacVie—Tabby.”

He was still smiling, he realized, feeling awkward, but she had such a wary, watchful look on her face that he suspected she already knew most people called him Joe, just with Pastor with a capital P in front of it. It looked like she fit firmly in the first category of women, the ones who wanted to run like hell. “I’m sorry we didn’t meet sooner. Every time I stopped by, you were gone or it was late. It’s been a busy week.”

She seemed to shake herself, and a myriad of emotions flickered over her face, but when warmth and hope were once more overshadowed by wariness, Joe sighed.

“It was a busy week for me too. I’ve haven’t even had time to shop until today. Tyler brought me food the first day, and I’ve lived on that until now.”

She had spoken to him. That was a shade better than some encounters he’d had during seminary.

“Now I feel guilty for not making more of an effort to meet you sooner,” Joe said. “Why don’t I cook dinner for you tonight—welcome you to the neighborhood? I was going to throw a couple of burgers on the grill.”

Her smile was regretful. He was already getting the avoid-the-pastor two-step. “I already have a dinner engagement,” she said. “Evan and Jenny Richardson.”

Not a date. Maybe there was still hope. “You’ve met them?”

She was wary again. He saw it in the inscrutable look blanketing her eyes, almost as veiled as a cat’s. “I met Evan yesterday.”

He wanted to prolong their conversation, but couldn’t see any way to do so, especially when she was so obviously uncomfortable. He handed her the mac and cheese, and noticed she was careful not to touch him again. “Here. Take this. I can get a different box.”

Joe finished shopping, berating himself the entire time for mishandling the encounter. He was also overly conscious of Tabby’s tall form gliding up and down the aisles. She wore jeans and a long-sleeved man’s shirt with the cuffs turned back. Her dark hair was pulled back into a neat braid. Heaven help him, she was beautiful. And every inch of her screamed hands off.

He should have been more assertive. She hadn’t been rude. He’d encountered that as well from women who obviously didn’t even consider him human. She just hadn’t been encouraging.

He finished shopping first and hurried home, careful to keep one eye on her drive as he put away his groceries. He would offer to help, that way they could talk some more. It would buy him some time.

* * * *

Tabby still tingled from where her hand had brushed Joe Taylor’s. For an instant, his touch had felt overwhelmingly right, a little zing of electricity that had made other parts of her zing too. She cringed at the thought. How could her own mind betray her in such a way? A preacher? She shuddered. It brought back horrible visions of her childhood. Still, Joe’s touch was different than those holier-than-thou men who had made her life hell.

He was different with his tawny hair and warm blue eyes. Many people thought blue eyes cool, but Joe’s were as warm as a summer afternoon when the sun heated her skin and the insects buzzed lazily around the flowers. Tabby shook her head. It wouldn’t do to start spinning fantasies about her neighbor, the minister. Artists who dated ministers probably painted landscapes or kids’ portraits. Better to stay away and avoid the disillusionment.

Up front, Tyler helped an older woman bag customers’ groceries. When he spotted Tabby, he grinned. “Hi, Miss MacVie. Mrs. Tarpley, this is Miss MacVie, the new art teacher.”

The older woman smiled kindly. “Good morning. Welcome to Mountain Meadow. Are you settling in all right?”

Tabby returned her smile. “Very well, thank you. Call me, Tabby, please. I really appreciate the groceries you sent over. How much do I owe you?”

Mrs. Tarpley looked startled. “Oh, there’s no charge, dear. It’s our welcome to the community.”

“Thank you.” As they continued to talk, Tabby carefully avoided answering most of Mrs. Tarpley’s questions. While she knew the woman was simply curious, Tabby felt she had to be cautious. Until she’d accomplished what her mother wanted, she didn’t dare arouse too much curiosity. She’d prefer not to arouse any at all.

She drove home with the car packed. She was bent inside the hatchback looking for the frozen items when the man already occupying too much of her thoughts spoke from behind her.

“Allow me to help.”

Tabby bumped her head as she abruptly straightened, rubbed the bruised spot, and said, “Oh, that’s not necessary…” but Joseph Taylor had already grabbed bags and strode up the steps to her porch. She frowned, but followed, opening the door to allow him into the big, airy kitchen. She was way, way too conscious of him as he continued to bring in bags and she unpacked them. Even when he finished, he didn’t leave. Instead, he began removing things from the remaining bags and setting them on the counter, so she could decide where to put them.

He made her nervous, but Tabby couldn’t ask him to leave. He had helped her. Besides, she had never met a man that made her insides flutter. He did. Why was that? A small, cynical voice reminded her that he would never stick around once he got to know her better. All her life people had turned tail once she had either trusted them enough to show them some of her art work, or they had discovered it on their own. Why should this man be any different?

When they finished, she smiled tightly. “I—I have some iced tea made. Would you like a glass?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” He grinned. “And I’d run out of groceries to unpack.”

Her gaze slipped to his generous mouth. His grin affected her more than anything she’d seen so far. It brought out fascinating dimples in his lean cheeks. Tabby realized she was staring and spun away with a blush. She would like to paint him. Not only was he beautiful, but for the first time that she could remember, he inspired images in her mind that were warm and bright. She felt like a moth to his flame. She had to get him out of the confines of the kitchen. “We could take it out on the porch in the shade.”

And so, a few minutes later, Tabby found herself curled up on a porch swing, sipping tea while the minister of the Baptist church sat nearby. But it was hard to think of him that way when he didn’t fit any of her previously conceived notions about what ministers should look like.

“I appreciate your help,” Tabby said.

Joe smiled. “But you’d like me to go home now?”

Tabby flushed and her gaze skittered away. “I didn’t say that.”

He leaned back in his chair and set his glass on the table next to it, idly watching as a bead of sweat ran down the outside of the glass. “You didn’t have to. Some people are very effective at getting a point across without saying anything at all. It’s there in your voice and your body language. Do you think I haven’t encountered reactions like yours before?”

She didn’t want to be lumped in with other people. More than that, she didn’t want him to see how much he scared her. Tabby stuck her chin out. “Why would I have any reaction? I hardly know you.”

He smiled, but beneath it, she glimpsed weariness and disillusionment. “Yet you do. Have a reaction, that is. Is it me personally or the fact that I’m a minister?”

Tabby set her glass aside. She met his steady gaze squarely, though inside her stomach fluttered with nerves. “You’re very direct.”

“Sometimes you have to be, and while I’m being direct, I’ll tell you that I’m attracted to you, Tabby, and I don’t think that attraction’s all one-sided.”

Tabby shook her head, trying to convince herself with the same words she said to him. “No. But not in the way you mean. I’m an artist. I’d like to paint you. You—you have an air about you I would like to capture on canvas.”

“It’s my halo.”

Tabby gaped a moment, then burst out laughing. “I can’t believe you said that. Won’t you get struck by lightning or something?”

“No more so than you for saying your only interest was in painting me.” He lifted one brow and grinned.

She opened and closed her mouth a couple of times then said, “I don’t date ministers. I don’t do the whole church thing.”

Joe gazed at her with his impossibly patient blue eyes. He tilted his head a little, and one dimple appeared when he lifted the corner of his mouth. “I’m not asking you to marry me, nor am I even asking you to ‘do the whole church thing’—though I wouldn’t kick you out if you showed up. Could we try neighbors, maybe even friends first?” When Tabby hesitated, he arched one thick golden brow. “I’ll let you paint me.”

“Really?” Her eyes lit up. “Are you bribing me, Pastor?”

His smile expanded. “Whatever works, and call me Joe or Joseph. You’ll have to add the bribery to my list of sins.”

Tabby stood up. “Now?”

“You want to get started right now?”

“Yes. I’d like to get my sketchpad. It’s upstairs in my studio.”

Tabby didn’t realize he’d followed until she turned from picking up the heavy sketchbook and the zippered bag that held her pencils. Joe’s eyes were riveted on the painting still sitting on the easel, a violent flaring of dark colors intermixed with flashes of vivid fiery lights and glimpses of tortured souls. Tabby pivoted and covered the painting with an oilcloth. When she faced him again, her chin jutted and her shoulders were stiff.

Without looking at her, he said quietly, “It’s what you were painting the night I heard you….”

If anything, her body stiffened even more. “Heard me what?”

He looked at her. “Crying.”

She turned away with a shrug of her shoulders. “It’s just a painting.”

“It’s like being inside Dante’s Inferno.”

She turned back and smiled at him challengingly. “Then let me paint an angel instead, and I have one more request.”

“What’s that?”

“I want to sketch you while you sing.”

He blew his breath out with an embarrassed laugh. “Seriously? You slammed your window the last time.”

“I want to hear you. We can do it here or at your house. You pick.”

He looked around the cluttered room with its high ceiling and the gentle whirr of a ceiling fan. “Here’s fine. Where do you want me?”

For an instant the words naked and in my bed came to mind. Heat flashed through her in what felt like an entire body blush. She needed some control.

“Near the window. I want to see the light on your face. That way I can capture the cascade of sparkles from your halo.”

Joe laughed and relaxed. He half sat on a stool near the window, while she perched at the far side of it on the window seat, her sketchbook open. She had drawn plenty of models in her life drawing classes, but this was different. What she was trying to do was different, and Tabby had no idea at all how, or if, it would work.

As she watched, he closed his eyes for a moment and began in the clear tenor she remembered so well, and she found it was as enthralling as it had been the first time she heard it. Only now, watching him as well as hearing him, she felt warmed inside. He glowed, almost as if he did indeed have a halo. Somehow, Tabby knew that would make him laugh if she told him, but it was true. He was light and warmth, and he fascinated her.

She sketched quickly, catching his face from different angles, and when she finished, she simply listened to the breathtaking pull of his voice. She knew the song he sang now, a song that never failed to touch her heart—”Thankful.”

* * * *

Joe finished the last note and focused on Tabby. She sat with her sketchbook closed and her face angled toward the window. “Tabby?” he questioned softly. “What is it?”

“That was beautiful, Joseph,” she whispered. “You have no idea. And… And I can’t tell you.” She blinked as if trying to clear her head.

With a sudden burst of energy, she stood up, took the dark painting from the easel, set it facing the wall with other canvases that had been similarly stacked so all that was visible were the backs of them, and replaced it with a fresh canvas. Joe watched, knowing that for the moment at least she had forgotten him. He kept quiet, curious as to what he would see, feeling somewhat like an eavesdropper. She began what looked like another sketch, only this time using a brush and thinned paint to lay out the basic composition.

He looked at his watch, vaguely remembering Tabby mentioning dinner with Evan and Jenny Richardson, but she was so intent on what she did he hated to interrupt her. As she finished outlining her composition and sat back for a moment, he finally spoke, “Tabby, it’s a little after five. Aren’t you going to the Richardson’s house?”

She started. He smiled at a concentration so intense she could forget he was there. If he were a more egotistical man, he might be offended, but strangely enough he understood her absorption. He experienced it in his singing and often in writing a sermon, and he was flattered she allowed him to share hers. She stared at him, and the intensity of those golden eyes changed to panic as she glanced down at the paint smearing her hands.

“I—I have to get ready. I don’t even know where I’m going or how long it will take to get there.”

“It’s okay. It’s a couple of streets over. No more than a five or ten minute walk. I can show you the way.”

“Would you really?”

“It would be my pleasure.”

He waited for her on the veranda, rising slowly to his feet as she came back through the door a quarter hour later. She wore a long, flowing skirt that left little more than her ankles bare, but made of a material light enough it seemed to caress her body each time she moved. The top was the same way, covering her from wrists to neck. He wondered that someone as free-spirited as she seemed to be was also almost excessively modest. The most revealing thing he’d seen her wear were bicycling shorts, and even then those were capris, falling to around mid-calf.

“Are you ready?” he asked with a smile he hoped would allay some of her nervousness, and she nodded. They walked companionably next to each other, people greeting him with a wave that Joe happily returned. Too soon, he stopped in front of Evan and Jenny’s huge Victorian home. “There you are. Think you can find your way back home?”

The response he felt coming died on her lips as a young voice piped, “Pastor Joe! Miss MacVie!”

Tyler dashed over to them, his long hair flying around his head. Behind him came Mountain Meadow’s Police Chief and his wife, carrying their daughter, Noelle.

Tyler skidded to a halt next to Tabby, and flushed. “I—I want you to meet Jake and my sister, Holly, Miss MacVie.” His dark brown eyes swiveled to Joe. “Are you eating at Evan and Jenny’s too?”

Joe shook his head. “No. I walked over to show Miss MacVie the way.”

Holly and Jake reached them, and Jake spoke up, “Well, I’m sure you’d be more than welcome, Joe.”

He saw the uneasy shift in Tabby’s expression. Better not to press things too far, since she was already spooked by his profession. He smiled. “Thanks, but not this time. I still have a few kinks to work out of tomorrow’s sermon. I’ll see y’all tomorrow.” He turned to Tabby and murmured, “There, I’ve delivered you safe and sound and didn’t even try to convert you on the way.”

The uneasiness fled from her expression, and she laughed, “Thank you, Joseph.”

* * * *

With mixed feelings, Tabby watched Joseph leave. While she might be reluctant to call a preacher friend, the fact remained he was the closest thing to a friend she had so far in this town. She turned her head in time to see Jake open Evan and Jenny’s front door as if he belonged there. Tabby envied that kind of easy familiarity.

“Evan? Jenny?” Holly called as they all entered the front hall. To one side, a double set of sliding doors parted. “Oh, there you are.” Holly continued. “We’re here, and we’ve brought Tabby with us. Come on, step up. Don’t be shy.”

Tabby’s heart thudded to the point she feared it would beat right out of her throat. For a moment, all she saw was Evan’s towering form. He didn’t look entirely happy, and his expression appeared guarded. From behind him stepped a petite, blond-haired woman, her belly swollen with advanced pregnancy. However, that wasn’t what grabbed Tabby’s attention.

She stared into eyes as golden as her own. Looking at her elder sister felt as though she’d taken a step back in time. Only her mother had never looked as confident as Jenny Richardson did. Tabby took a half step forward, uncertain what she was about to do or say, but then she halted.

Jenny’s smile of welcome had faded as Tabby stepped from Jake’s shadow. The color left Jenny’s face. Tabby was sure it must have fled hers too. Despite her pregnancy, Jenny was still quick on her feet. She turned to Evan in such a way that he actually took a step back.

“You should have told me,” she snapped at her husband. “You should have asked.” She turned a hostile gaze on Tabby.

From the corner of her eye, Tabby was aware of Holly and Jake hurrying Tyler down the hall to the kitchen. Tabby wished Joseph had stayed. Somehow, she had a feeling he would bring calm to this situation because it always seemed to surround him.

“Who are you?” Jenny hissed after the door swung shut behind Tyler and his family. Tabby raised her chin and saw Jenny do the same thing.

With a deep breath, she began, “Tabitha MacVie, from Asheville, North Carolina. My mother…”

Jenny’s eyes shot sparks. “I don’t want to hear anything about your mother,” she interrupted. She looked Tabby up and down. “How old are you?”

Tabby shook, and even Evan took a half-step back from the anger and pain in Jenny’s voice and expression.

“Twenty-three,” Tabby whispered.

“Why don’t we go into the living room?” Evan suggested, no doubt hoping to move this confrontation away from the hallway that led straight back to the kitchen. He attempted to take Jenny’s elbow, only to be shaken off furiously.

Jenny’s gaze swept Tabby from head to foot. “For all his faults, and for everything else he lied about, it seems my father did tell the truth on one count. My mother was a slut.”

“Jenny!” Evan snapped. “Stop it. Tabby is a guest in our home.”

“She is your guest, not mine,” and with that, Jenny stomped up the stairs.

Evan stared after his wife, then looked at Tabby with embarrassment. He spread his hands wide in a frustrated and helpless gesture. “I’m sorry. She’s usually not… Maybe it’s the pregnancy….”

Tabby smiled thinly. Why had she ever imagined this would be easy, that in an instant she would gain the family she had always dreamed of having? “You should go to her. She needs you even if she is angry at you.”

Evan spared her one quizzical glance before he sprinted up the steps.

Tabby studied the beautiful house. Her mother had told Tabby what childhood had been like for Jenny, and how it had probably continued even after Mama had run away. The light and furnishings in this house made it obvious that her sister’s life was far different now. And even if she was angry with her husband at the moment, anyone could see how devoted Evan was to her.

Tabby had known her reception might not be a warm one, but she hadn’t anticipated the extent to which Jenny would reject her. She probably should have. Rejection was certainly not a new experience.

Head tilted, she listened for a moment to the laughter floating down the hallway from the kitchen. Giggles from Tyler and Noelle, easygoing rumbles from Jake, and Holly’s gentle chuckle…all the sounds of a happy family. She had no right to be here. Family had never been happy for her.

After reaching into the deep pocket of her skirt, Tabby removed the envelope she had carried with her for more than a year. She knew its contents because she had written them as her mother dictated to her. It was the explanation Jenny Richardson wasn’t ready to hear. She would be, at some point, so Tabby propped the envelope against the drawer of the hall tree and quietly let herself out. She retraced the steps she and Joe had taken just a few minutes ago.

After letting herself into her house, Tabby allowed the screen door to bang shut and ran for her studio, but she didn’t turn on the lights. She curled up in the corner of the window seat and wrapped her arms around her bent knees, rocking and remembering.